Understand
by carsinya
Summary: The story behind John's wristband. Gen. Ronon-Sheppard friendship.


They're running for their lives yet again, courtesy of McKay and his complete disregard for anything resembling politeness- to be honest John's getting kinda tired of being chased back to the Gate by pissed off natives. Thankfully, they're pretty much on the home stretch, with the Gate already in sight. The angry mob of natives is on their tail, bows and throwing knives in hand, but the Gate is right on the other side of the clearing, and it looks like they might actually make it back to the city without anybody getting stabbed, shot, or otherwise caused significant and potentially fatal harm.

Of course, that's when John steps in the alien rabbit hole and screws up his ankle.

Wrenching his foot out of the aforementioned alien rabbit hole, he ignores the sharp pain that stabs through his lower leg and hobbles towards the Stargate. Every step is agony; fire shoots through his ankle every time he moves his foot, and even though the pain is at a—by his standards—manageable level, he has to bite his lip to stop the hiss of pain when he puts too much weight on the messed up ankle and everything goes a little bit grey around the edges.

It's a given that Teyla and Ronon notice his sudden decrease in speed; he's not nearly as fast as Ronon is, but by Earth standards he's still pretty damn fast, and he's not going anywhere _near _what he usually can. McKay is too caught up in shooting anxious looks over his shoulder at the approaching mob to realize that he's actually _outstripping _John, something that has never happened before.

Teyla reaches the DHD and starts dialing Atlantis; Ronon hovers by her, blaster at the ready just in case those natives get into bow-range before they're through the Gate.

Rodney, breathing heavily and red in the face, finally reaches the Gate and fumbles his GDO out of one of his vest pockets. Punching in his identification code, he doubles over to catch his breath. It's only then that he notices that Sheppard hasn't even made it to the clearing yet. He looks ready to make a comment about John being out of shape, but before he can say anything he sees the way Sheppard's limping and decides to just shut up.

Of course, it's then that the natives get into firing range and suddenly the air is filled with deadly projectiles in the form of arrows, most likely doused in a poison of some sort. They shoot back, of course, but there are way more natives than there are Lanteans and before long they're forced to retreat towards the Gate with arrows whistling by all around them.

McKay, voice slightly higher than usual in reaction to the current situation, taps his radio and demands to know why the hell it's taking so long to get the shield down, because they're kind of in a firefight here and he really doesn't feel like being shot and most likely poisoned by very sharp-looking projectiles with very pointy ends.

Elizabeth gets on the radio and lets them know that the shield has been lowered, and the four of them stumble through the wormhole into the Gate room. She hurries down the stairs to greet them, but her eyes flicker to John, who is clutching at the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his calf and, as she watches, staggers and hits the floor, lying ominously still.

Weir keys her radio and calls for a med team, her voice sharpened by worry and alarm. Then she's rushing the rest of the way down the stairs and joining Teyla, Rodney, and Ronon in crouching next to Sheppard, who isn't looking so good.

His face is rapidly draining of color, and his eyes, though open, are glazed, like the lights are on but there's nobody home. His entire body is limp, like he's lost all muscle control, and when Teyla presses her fingers to his neck in search of a pulse he doesn't even react.

Several long, torturous moments later, the med team finally arrives and loads him onto a gurney, frantically taking stock of his condition as they go. His black wristband is discarded in the rush, and left on the floor when they wheel him off to the infirmary. His team follows in their wake, matching looks of worry on their faces; Ronon sees the item lying on the floor and, unable to remember a time when he _hadn't _seen John wearing it, picks it up and takes it with him.

When John finally wakes up, over three days later, it's to find the rest of his team crowded around his infirmary bed, relieved smiles stretching across their faces when they realize he's awake.

"It's about time you woke up," Rodney snarks, looking up from his laptop. Beside him, Teyla rolls her eyes and nudges the astrophysicist with her elbow in a very deliberate fashion. Rodney starts to whine, "Ow, what was _that _for?" before he takes the hint and revises his first comment.

"Oh, good, you're awake! We missed you so much, Sheppard, it's great to have you back in the land of the conscious and independently breathing," he says instead, with a completely fake too-wide smile to top off the ludicrous picture.

Snorting, John says in a slightly raspy voice, "Wow, McKay, if you were a considerate person I might've even believed you _meant _that."

Rodney starts to retort, but is interrupted by Carson's sudden appearance around the edge of the curtain. The doctor, declaring that the Colonel needs his rest, tells Ronon, Rodney, and Teyla in no uncertain terms that he's kicking them out—"Look, ya three, I know ya want ta visit with the Colonel, but he's been in a _poison-induced coma_ for nearly four days and I'd like ta see how he's doin' first, if ya don't mind. Ya can come back tomorrow, if ya like, but no sooner, ya hear me?"—and he doesn't want to see them anywhere near his infirmary until the next day.

None of them look too happy with the announcement, but it's generally a bad idea to not follow a doctor's orders, especially when it's the one that handles your post-mission physicals and has access to very large, pointy needles.

Reluctantly, Rodney and Teyla say their good-byes and leave for parts unknown. Ronon hangs back a minute, his face an expressionless mask. He leans closer to the bed and hands Sheppard something black and soft, muttering a quick, "Figured you'd want it back," before turning to leave without another word.

John looks down at the item in his hand and simply says, "Thanks, big guy." Ronon pauses at the edge of the curtain, and without looking back, replies, "You're welcome." Then he walks away, because there's really nothing else to say.

Ronon never asks why the wristband is important to him, and John never volunteers the information, at least not out loud, but John can't help but think that Ronon, more than anyone, would understand his reason. The day after John is finally released from the infirmary, a scrap of notebook paper is slipped under the Satedan's door. It says only a few words, written in John's distinctive messy scrawl:

He gave it to me to remember him by. He died in my lap, bleeding all over the fucking sand, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do for him. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think about him, what he meant to me and what he still means to me. To be totally honest, I cared about him a lot more than I was supposed to.

Ronon understands completely.


End file.
